It's The Little Things

I was recently asked to solicit “testimonials” from former students about the impact of teachers on their lives. That generated some warm fuzzies from formers on Facebook about their years at Hancock, but it also got me thinking.

It also generated some memories, and because it’s been a while since I’ve posted on my HP-HP blog, I thought I would share a few, plus a lesson it took me a while to learn.

When I started at the Place in the early 70s (okay, very early 70s) I resisted the notion of being a “role model.” I parroted some professional athletes of the time who were rejecting that job. “My job is to teach, not preach. It’s not my place to set an example, that job belongs to their parents, not me, etc., etc., etc.”

I was wrong on a couple counts. What it took me years (too long) to realize was that I was a role model whether I wanted the job or not. We are all role models, not just for our own children (and I think I became a better teacher when I became a father because my perspective expanded) but for all the children with whom we come in contact. I immodestly also think that in spite of not wanting the role model job, I managed to do it decently anyway, just because I truly did care about the kids in the Hancock community.

When people asked me what I taught, my semi-flippant answer was always, “Kids.” I instinctively realized that who I was teaching was far more important than what I was teaching. But it took me a longer while to realize that as teachers there is a huge difference between what we think we’re teaching and what we’re actually teaching. What the students in our care remember is not some random fact or skill so much as an attitude, an approach to life. 

Conversations with formers frequently reveal that what they remember best is a random thought, a throwaway line, a kind word, a compliment; it’s not some specific part of the curriculum, it’s not whether you put the day’s objectives on the white board (or smart board, or, in a retro reference, blackboard – and if you have to ask what a blackboard is, just “Shut up!”), or whether you got all the boxes checked on some administrator’s walk through checklist.

I’m guessing that’s what will be revealed in the brief videos that will alleviate what is the usual tedium of those interminable in-service days. For those who submitted them, know they were appreciated. And for those who just thought about that teacher or organization that helped during your adolescent school years, those thoughts, too, are appreciated – because I believe that energy makes the universe a better place.

And if you get a chance, pay it forward with your own kind words, thoughts, and deeds and be a role model for good.

End Game

I thought I had recounted this before, but I cannot find it anywhere on either blog; apologies if the story of how I came to leave Hancock High School and the School District of Hancock Place is a repeat. Incidentally, this is not the end of the HP-HP blog, just another random story generated by a news hook.

An article in the newspaper (yes, this dino still reads one) talks about how about 2/3 of Missouri schools offer no AP or ACP classes to their students. 

There are many pride points to my career, but one of the most important is the role I played in starting Hancock High School’s AP program (and, prior to that, its Advanced Credit Program, years earlier, as well as distance learning through the Junior College District). For my second year of retirement I proposed starting AP-US History (APUSH) at the high school. This earned support from both the district and building administration, so I headed up to Illinois Wesleyan for a summer institute on teaching APUSH and began developing the course.

It was a success and, like any franchiser, I began planning expansion. I proposed bringing a new teacher on board as a trainee for the future. I was, after all, at least officially retired, albeit teaching two college level classes, Pysch 10 through UMSL, as well as APUSH, and I didn’t want the AP program to wither away or be passed on to someone not ready or able to continue it at a high level once I finally decided to put away my chalk, retire my dry-erase markers, walk away from my smartboard, although I admit I didn’t anticipate leaving the Place for at least another year or two.

Little did I realize at the time I had planted the seeds of the demise of my career at Hancock; I just thought I was being proactive in building a strong program. I’ve always been a little naïve. However, Dr. Ed Stewart, who told me I could work at Hancock for as long as he was superintendent, retired and an outsider came in. He (apparently, I learned later) wanted to dump me his first year but was convinced, grudgingly, to keep me on for the additional year (with a 25% pay cut). I took my mentee/successor up to Northwestern with me for another AP institute; we talked about vertical integration to the middle school, other courses we could add to the curriculum, etc.

My mentee, as it turned out, knew my days were numbered long before I did, but had been sworn to awkward silence and secrecy, forced to wordlessly watch as I dangled, investing time in doomed proposals to a principal (Jeff Buscher) who, while acting as though he was my advocate and friend, had, unbeknownst to me, already not just thrown me under the bus, but chained my feet to the pavement. Had I known of his betrayal, I would have pursued a different strategy in my futile attempt to stay on. However, to be fair, which is more than I can say for him, I doubt anything would have mattered. The new super’s mind was made up.

In any case, I went out in, if not a blaze of glory, at least incendiary indignation, with a speech to the Board of Education, which, not surprisingly, backed the superintendent, buying his lie of “I have people who can do what you do [and don't let door hit you in the butt on your way out]” (Hancock still doesn’t offer Intro to Psych, the closest thing to a universal graduation requirement elective out there, or even AP Psych), plus a district-wide “farewell (e)ulogy” (the closest I can get to an FU) letter. I still have a copy. That superintendent? Long gone and unlamented, as near as I can tell.

And that was that. My 37 years at the place were over, before I was ready, my institutional memory and contributions discarded like detritus from the old building. However, please do not assume that I continue to harbor any bitterness or resentment, although I confess that was a process, not an immediate reaction; rest assured that not only am I at peace, but grateful, living a life that “is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.” 

Because after a year off, spending priceless hours and days with my newly born granddaughter, I found the perfect landing spot for my career with the four incredible years I spent at Solomon Schechter Day/Saul Mirowitz Jewish Community School. I became fulfilled again, learned a ton, met many wonderful people, taught a bunch of great kids, and made lifelong friendships. And, thanks to the lessons I learned during my first (and subsequent) Yom Kippur(s), and long before Frozen, I was able to “Let It Go.” When I retired again, it was on my terms and my timetable, because it was time and I was ready. So it turns out that the lack of loyalty was actually a blessing, one for which I will be eternally grateful, as I will also always be for my 37 years at the Place.

 

Give and Take, Snow Days and More

As we wait for the Republicans and PEOTUS DJ Trump to come up with their replacement for the Affordable Care Act, and while I listen to announcements on the closing of schools for weather (I still get a charge out of hearing my schools mentioned), I am reminded of the contract negotiations about the calendar and the issue of snow days at Hancock, back in the ‘70s.

Calendar negotiation was a minefield for both the union and administration, because one thing was guaranteed: no matter what you agreed to about the start of school, the end of school, the breaks, both length and placement, a significant number of people would be pissed off and loudly unhappy.

Snow day scheduling was also a challenge for a while. Hancock teachers, being on the bottom as far as competitive salaries were concerned compared to most other county districts, were not inclined to work more days than was required by law. The district, on the other hand, wanted a set calendar and thus insisted on a certain number of snow days to make sure we met state requirements. If we didn’t use them, well, BONUS! (Bonus for the district. anyway.) This was before snow days were as common and state aid was tied to attendance for districts like the Place.

Our proposal, for several years running, had called for scheduling the minimum number of required days (no snow days), with the proviso that whatever days necessary to meet state standards in the event of a run of bad weather would be tacked on to the end of the year. Every year that proposal was rejected and the fight went on. Compromise wasn’t a dirty word back then and we always managed to reach agreement.

Knowing that our usual proposal was destined for rejection, we offered a variation – scheduling several extra days (we didn’t care how many) but removing any extras at the end of the year. The administrative negotiating team responded that they couldn’t possibly do that, but would return with a counter-proposal.

And they did. Their proposal: schedule no snow days, but add any needed extra days on to the end of the school year. After we rubbed our sore jaws, removed them from the table, stopped the bleeding from our tongues, and composed ourselves after stifling our incredulous laughter, we caucused and came back to accept their proposal. Once the proposal wasn’t ours, but theirs, it became acceptable.

The ACA (aka Obamacare, née RomneyCare, originally of the conservative Heritage Foundation) seems doomed, but Speaker Ryan and PEOTUS DJ Trump both claim to have (secret?) plans to replace it. Mr. Trump even says his plan will cover everyone. Given that I have both a daughter and now a granddaughter with auto-immune diseases that would, pre-ACA, have eliminated them from  insurance coverage due to their pre-existing conditions  (a known problem before the ACA {I’m choosing to use that acronym to minimize the frothing that seems to result in some corners every time President Obama’s name gets mentioned}), that piece is crucial to me and my family.

I admit that it will irk me if the vilified Obamacare morphs into superfantastic Trumpcare or Ryancare or GOPcare (modifications that could have begun 6 years ago had the goal been to actually do something for the citizens and not just deny credit to the president), but, like the snow day policy of so many years ago, I’ll just take the win and move on.

Oh, and just like you paid for the treatment of those who did not have insurance when they showed up at an ER before the ACA, or got “free” care from a hospital, you’ll also pay for the new and improved health care plan that is coming soon to a neighborhood near you. It just won’t be called Obamacare. If that makes you feel better about it, okay. After all, health care is all about feeling better.

Also on the Don't Get Berndt Blog